


The White Whale

by Wind_Ryder



Category: Antman - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Despair, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Post-credit scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An extended view of the Antman Post-Credit Scene. Spoilers for that scene for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. </p><p>Steve has been hunting his white whale for two years, and now that he's found it - he wished that he hadn't. The world was different now. The SRA was in place, and there was nothing he could do. He was tumbling down a rabbit hole. Between making a choice between his past and his present, his past won out every time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Whale

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE ANTMAN POST-CREDIT SCENE

Standing still, mere paces away from his one time friend (his brother), Steve’s mind was silent. He’d been searching for two years, and his quest had led them here: an abandoned warehouse in Detroit, surrounded by asbestos and mold. There were torn pieces of paper thrown across the floor, and rot had set in on the walls. The electricity, remarkably, was working, and it had worked well enough to power the contraption his friend’s arm was trapped in.

Shining plates of metal twisted and turned within the machine’s iron grasp. The limb was frozen, incapable of being removed without tearing its host apart. Steve had tried, initially, when he’d first walked in on this scene, he’d tried to pull the metal clamps apart and free Bucky’s arm. He’d hit it, with his shield, with his hands, with everything he had, smearing grease and dirt across is body as sweat stained his shirt, and nothing had mattered.

Bucky had stayed still the whole while, head down and resigned as his body sagged against the machine’s base. He was exhausted, _defeated_. His metal fingers twitched and shivered, electric sparks coiling around the vice. Steve didn’t know how long he’d been like that before he'd found him, but it had been long enough for Bucky to give up.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve had told him, gasping as he tried to work at the metal. There was no give, no creak. He was a ninety-pound asthmatic again, weak and incapable of conquering this last towering giant. He was useless in the face of it’s pre-constructed strength, and it sparked a ferocious anger within him. _This wasn’t fair._

Bucky’s eyes lifted, briefly, before quickly moving away. He hadn’t said anything since Steve first arrived, and Steve had done everything he could think of to engage with him. No amount of desperate pleading, mumbled requests, or open agitation could bite through the apathy that Bucky was shrouded in. Steve didn’t know what to do. He’d been searching for two years, and now that he had what he’d wanted- he didn’t know how to proceed.

Two years of chasing his white whale from one side of the globe to the other, had led him to a place of utter confusion and abject surrealism. His obsession to hunt Bucky down, had been so solidly set in his mind, that he was lost. Steve had sacrificed everything, stopping his hunt only when the world’s needs had outweighed his own.

The great irony of it all, Steve conceded as he stumbled back and pulled out his phone, was that he half wished he hadn’t found Bucky at all. After two years, things were different now. If had he found him any other day than today - maybe it would have been better. Maybe it would have worked. Maybe, somehow, it could have been worthwhile. But Ultron had fractured everything. Tony Stark and his insistence that he could protect the world, had splintered the very world he was desperate to save. Today their choices were made for them, and Steve didn’t know how to move forward.

The Superhero Registration Act was everything that Steve hated. Corrupt oversight was what started the mess with Hydra in the first place,and there was something about putting every superpowered individual on a list for the World Security Council was an invasion or privacy that was wrong on every moral level Steve believed in. Putting together a list of individuals with “abnormal qualities” always led to one thing - segregation, fear, persecution, then death.

Tony had sponsored the bill from the start, throwing himself into the hands of the court and martyring himself in a desperate attempt at absolution. The people of Sokovia, and the world, had every right to hate and fear him for what he’d done, and Steve didn’t blame him for trying to find a way to set things right. The SRA wasn’t right, though, and neither was criminalizing anyone who stepped outside that boundaries of its rigidity.

Bucky’s consciousness faded. He slumped forwards, leaning more heavily against the machine as his body conceded defeat. It gave Steve the chance to call Sam and tell him where they were. He stepped backwards, watching over Bucky (his guardian angel), and waited.

Sam had been with him from the beginning. He’d been with him from the moment Steve had set eyes on Bucky two years ago, and he’d never once complained about their journey. He’d taken personal time to be with him, to help him as he searched. He was the last person on Earth that Steve needed to justify this to, and the only person Steve could trust the opinion of now. It didn’t stop the feelings of shame and inadequacy that surged within him when he admitted that Bucky wasn’t responding to him at all.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve admitted, once Sam had promised he was on his way and the call had ended. “Just tell me what to do. You were always good at that. You always knew...you always told me what you thought. I just need you to do it one more time.”

Bucky, predictably, didn’t answer. Steve’s jaw clenched and he fought desperately against the despair and pain that was spiralling through him. His eyes moved towards a clock pinned on the wall. It was faulty and aged, the second hand ticking endlessly in place, never moving forwards. He wondered, idly, how long it had been trapped there, repeating the same motion again and again as though eventually it would accomplish something. He wondered when the battery would finally wear out and it would just stop, lying dormant in defeat.

It took almost 3000 ticks of the second hand before Sam arrived. Steve could see the headlights of his car as he pulled into the warehouse parking lot, and he waited as Sam moved swiftly and methodically through the building. Bucky would be the first person he saw.

His one time friend’s consciousness slowly slipped back into place, as Sam stepped into the light. His right hand reaching up to clutch at the base of the machine. His head came up, lips moving in wordless requests that Steve couldn’t even begin to work out. When he looked at Bucky he saw eighty years of failure. There was nothing he could do to fix this.

Sam moved towards him, every step a defeat. “This would be a lot easier if this happened a week ago,” Sam told him quietly, glancing back towards Bucky’s crumpled body.

Steve’s jaw clenched. “We could call Tony-”

“He wouldn’t understand,” Sam reminded, and Steve knew it was true.

“Even if he did-”

“He might not be allowed to help with his contracts…”

“So we’re alone,” Steve determined. His hands clenched. They were trapped here, alone, watching Bucky deteriorate more with each passing second. There was nothing they could do. They couldn’t go to Stark. They couldn’t go to SHIELD. They couldn’t go to the government. There was no one that would help them with this. Steve wasn’t even sure he wanted to trust the other Avengers with this to begin with. He hated this.

He let his eyes roam over the machine, desperately trying to work out just how to get it off Bucky’s arm. He couldn’t find the way. Nothing had worked before, and he had tried everything he could think of.

“Maybe not,” Sam offered carefully. “I know a guy.” Steve glanced at him. Friends were getting harder to come by in this day and age. “He could help.”

“Okay,” Steve replied.

Bucky moved. His right hand turned back to the machine, his head fell forwards, turning to press against the filthy sleeve covering his left shoulder. His hand pulled at his trapped arm, feebly attempting to free himself from the vice. Steve moved towards him.

He was beaten, bloody and filthy. Whatever had led to Bucky being in this contraption hadn’t been voluntary. Steve was so tired of seeing the one person he cared about more than anyone else in the world being stripped of all his agency. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?

Steve was making the same choice. Steve should have left him alone the moment the SRA came out and changed everything. He should have let Bucky disappear into the world, instead of chasing him and making him desperate enough to try to smuggle himself across the border. Desperate enough to go to whatever lengths had led him right here. He hadn’t left, and now he couldn’t leave. Bucky was right there, and he needed help. He'd never leave him lik this. Not when he had a choice.

Steve’s knees folded beneath him. He could feel Sam watching his back. Sam called his name, warning him. The last time he was this close to Bucky, he's nearly dird. Steve’s head jerked to the left. No. He couldn’t think about that. He couldn't think about what a sacrifice this was for him and those who believed in him. Even in 1943, when it came down to Bucky’s life versus following orders, there had been no contest. The SRA didn’t matter. He’d made his choice.

He could feel the house of cards crumbling beneath him. He’d lose everything; all of his attempts at stability, at building something familiar, at finding a home would disappear. Sam knew it just as well as he did. He was tumbling down the rabbit hole, and there was no end in sight.

Bucky’s shoulders hitched, his head burrowed deeper against his forearm. His body was trembling, and Steve could smell the fear that was wafting from his body. Fear, pain, and despair were spiraling through Bucky’s form, and Steve knew there had never been any other choice than this.

Between his past and his present, his past won out every time. There was no contest.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered. His friend started to shake. His head twitched where it was pressed against his arm, and Steve’s teeth popped as he ground them harder. He could hear Bucky’s lungs pull in a desperate breath of air. Bucky’s right hand was still scrambling against the iron locks on his arm. His nails tugged and pulled against the metal. “Bucky?” Steve repeated, forcing the word out calmly and gently.

He reached out a hand, ignoring Sam’s rising tension behind him, and carefully rested it on the back of Bucky’s neck. He could feel his friend’s body jolt under his touch. Steve could wait. He could wait, as long as it took.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” Steve asked quietly, rubbing his thumb back and forth at the base of his friend’s skull. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

  
Bucky, predictably, didn’t respond.

**Author's Note:**

> Find or prompt me on tumblr!
> 
> http://www.falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


End file.
